


Cet Amour

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: A - Freeform, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst, Dunkirk, Fluff and Angst, French Harry, French Louis, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Gore, Mild Smut, Period-Typical Homophobia, Romantic Angst, Sad, Unresolved Romantic Tension, War, World War II, side Ziam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-14 04:43:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7154033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If my damnation was with you then it would still be heaven in my eyes." </p><p>A story of love, loss, triumph and agony.The year is 1940 and Paris was the place Louis and Harry called home, that was until the war began. Now they have found themselves thrust into a spiral of death, guns and isolation. Amongst all this Harry readily admits it would not be the best of places to start a love story but then again, they could be dead tomorrow. </p><p>Or a Dunkirk Larry AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cet Amour

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to be at least somewhat historically accurate with the telling of this tale but as it is my first ever period piece, not everything it going to be 100% accurate. Be kind to me, I tried.

Cet amour

_Part 1_

_Paris/Before_

_And by his smile, I knew that sullen hall, —_

_By his dead smile I knew we stood in Hell._

_Strange Meeting- Wilfred Owen_

 

**March 15th Paris 1940**

Harry lay shoulder deep within his tub, eyes fixated on the faucet, watching water slowly dripping from its rusted surface. He was intrigued at how the water would seem to cling on to the steel for as long as physically possible before slipping forth into the water as disappearing, becoming one of many. No longer a single drop, but a part of the whole body of water. 

“I want you to cut my hair.”

Harry’s eyes were still fixed on the faucet, though he could see a figure emerge in his peripheral vision. He tried to ignore the khaki green outfit he donned. If Harry shut his eyes, he could pretend this wasn’t happening.

He shut his eyes. 

Alright, maybe he couldn’t. This was happening and it was hurting like hell.

“I like your hair,” A boy spoke. Louis Tomlinson spoke.

It was then Harry turned his head and let his eyes wonder the smaller man’s figure. He had just picked up his military uniform and had been looking himself over in the full-length mirror of their shared dormitory bathroom. Before the war they had both moved to Paris for university. Harry was born in Nice, Louis in Bordeaux. Louis’ parents owned a farm there and sold a fair share of wine. He wondered what they were doing now. Louis had informed Harry offhandedly one night that his father had been one of the first men to enlist in the war, ‘only noble thing he’s ever done,’ Louis had commented. Now it looked like Louis was doing the same. He didn’t look like Louis. He looked like a soldier.

“You can’t have long hair in the army,” Harry sat up slightly, squaring his jaw.

“Yes well, you aren’t going to the army. You aren’t old enough,” Louis’ tone hung stern in the air.

“But I look it.” 

Silence. 

Louis gave himself a once over in the mirror again before stripping down to his undergarments. He did this in slow movements, like a snake shedding its skin. One minute it was a stranger and the next it was Louis again. Harry felt his eyes lingering on the exposed flesh before he snapped his eyes shut and ducked his head under the water, hearing the dripping faucet even when submerged. 

He was going to hell. Probably. Definitely. Maybe. 

His hands moved to search for the cross he wore around his neck, trying to shake Louis’ half-naked frame from his thoughts. It wasn’t as if it was the first time he had seen Louis like this, but it was the first time he would admit to liking it. He was definitely going to hell. 

Harry could only hold his breath for so long and soon he had to surface. When he did his head was foggy and Louis was dressed in braces and a powder blue button up. He was beautiful and shit- Harry’s going to hell. 

“This might come as a shock Curly, but for once I don’t want you by my side,” Louis spoke when he realised the boy could yet again hear him. 

“This is war. It’s not like in the papers. It’s no glorified playground. It’s nothing like those new superhero comics are making it out to be. People are dying Hazza, this is serious,” His voice shook, but Harry could tell he tried to cover it.

Louis was always like this, the elder, the protector. Ever since the two had met on their first tour of the university campus, the two had stuck like glue. The two of them winding up being roommates was a happy co-incidence.

Harry stared at the water for a moment as if he was scared to look back up to Louis. He knew all of this, but that didn’t matter. He wanted to go with Louis. It was idiotic, but he did.

“Oliver died last week and James the week before that. Stan lost a foot stepping on a bloody land mine.” 

In that moment, he felt like a five-year-old being told off for stealing sweets from the corner store or forgetting the words to La Marseillaise. He wasn’t a child anymore and Louis was not his parent or that much older than him.

“I’m aware, that doesn’t change anything. I- I want to fight for my country.”

More like he wanted to make sure Louis didn’t get his idiotic arse blown up, but that excuse would do nicely. Harry could never speak his true feelings for Louis. It would kill him if Louis was to reject him and if Louis were anywhere near sane he would do just that. Harry’s thoughts were wrong. He knew that much but- how could something so wrong feel so innately right? 

“Screw France Harry and keep your own damn arse home and safe, maybe you will get lucky and the war will end before you turn eighteen.”

Harry very much doubted it. He had learned enough about The Great War in school to realise that this war had its own forward momentum that looked to be nowhere near slowing.

“Why do you even care so much about me doing this?” Harry found himself snapping.

There was a beat of silence.

“I care about you.” 

There was a look painting its way across Louis’ face that clearly stated it wasn’t meant to come out the way it had, but he didn’t take it back. He just let it hang in the air.

“I care about you too, that’s why I’m going.” There was no inch of budging in Harry’s mind. He was damn well going. In that moment Louis seemed to realise this. 

“And either way I’m going to need to cut my hair so either you can do it, or I’ll do it myself… just a lot rougher.”

Louis stood still for a moment before taking a small step closer. He let out an exasperated sigh, grabbing the clippers from the bench and taking it to the tub. He looked down at the water for a moment and at Harry.

“Move over then.”

Harry did as he was instructed, sitting up and watching as Louis started to roll his pant’s legs up before realising that this would do little good to him and stopped, keeping on his clothes he moved to stand in the tub. The water rose threateningly close to spilling over as Louis did so.

“Tilt your head, I don’t want to cut you.” 

Again, Harry did as told, soon feeling Louis’ fingertips graze over his neck, his touch so light it was almost non-existent. Louis didn’t speak as he slowly began working his way through Harry’s mane of curls, his lips pressed into a tight line as he concentrated. Harry couldn’t see Louis from the position in which he was sitting. He would never be able to see how Louis’ eyes wandered over Harry’s bare flesh before trailing back up to the nape of his neck. His eyes mindlessly fixated on a freckle there, for a moment his fingers grazed over it and then down to another near the small of his back. He paused. 

“What are you doing?” Harry started to turn and Louis’ eyes snapped back up to Harry’s curls.

“Nothing- sorry.” Louis’ reply was an odd one.

Harry furrowed his brow, though said nothing as he felt Louis begin to shave away at his hair, watching it fall in chunks from his shoulders and into the tub, floating in the water for a moment, resembling dark, down feathers. For some reason, he felt his stomach sink. He felt like he was losing a part of his self. It was in that moment Louis’ free hand moved down to try and envelope Harry’s larger one. 

“It’s okay to be nervous you know, you’ve had long hair as long as I’ve known you. If it helps when I had to shave I cried.” 

Harry let out a small and shaky laugh before biting his lip. 

“You didn’t cry.” Louis wiggled his brows, turning Harry to face him for a moment so he could see.

“Like a baby love. Honestly. Hold my hand, you’re going to look fit either way… all the woman in Paris shall be chasing after you.” 

This motion continued for a long while, holding Harry’s hand while using the other to trim his hair. The tub water started growing cold by the time he could feel the breeze from the open bathroom window on his neck and ears. Louis’ fingers trembled slightly, clearly having grown quite cold. It was a chilly spring evening. Louis was now finished and his lips shaped words he knew it was best not to utter so instead he twisted them to form another, something more practical.

“I don’t want you to go with me.” He was repeating himself again. 

“I know,” Harry’s reply hung in the air a moment before Louis had the courage to respond.

“I have something to say, but I’m not sure it would do me any good, talking to you about it.”

“What is it about?” Harry questioned softly.

What Louis did next came as a surprise. He made no verbal indication to say what he was about to do, just leant forward and pressing his shivering lips to the nape of Harry’s neck then pulled back slowly. 

“I think you know. I’m just not sure I should say it.”

“If you’re not sure then don’t.” 

Harry stood up from the tub, quickly wrapping a towel around himself and covering himself from Louis’ gaze. Louis looked away looking like a puppy that had been kicked one too many times. 

“Right,” He breathed.

“I won’t.”

**March 27th Paris 1940**

Harry stood in the doorway, his eyes locked intently on Louis’ for a moment. They were both standing at opposite ends of the small corridor that led from their room to the outside hallway and rest of the university lodging. Both boys were dressed fully in their uniforms and for a long while neither boy spoke, instead just examining one another.

Louis was looking at Harry.

Harry was looking at Louis. 

It seemed like neither of the lads could really see one another past the uniform. Louis still wasn’t used to Harry’s hair yet. Harry wasn’t used to seeing Louis look so much like the soldiers, which patrolled the streets. 

“So- this is it, huh?” Harry whispered with a slight raise in his brow.

 “Our last night in Paris?”

Louis shook his head slightly at the pure bleakness in Harry’s tone. He wasn’t the type to be so negative, but in many ways it was hard not to be.

“Our last night in Paris for a little while.” 

Louis crossed the space between them and looked out the window mindlessly glancing out at the city. For Paris, it was quiet. Next to no one was in the streets. He beckoned Harry to come look as well. The two stood, watching war vehicles storm through the streets and people scattering back into their homes. 

“I heard we are likely to be serving with the English troops. By the time we get back we might be fluent. We’ll be able to show off to all the ones too scared to leave. We might even be heroes once we come back.”

“I thought you said you didn’t believe in the heroism of war.”

Harry’s green orbs squinted as he glanced through the dusted window. It wasn’t the same city it had been months before. Nothing seemed quite the same. Not himself. Not Louis.

“I don’t but I’m trying to be positive Curly, looking on the bright side and all that. At least we aren’t in silly suits and capes.”

This earned Louis a smile and an eye roll. Harry leant over slightly, nudging Louis’ shoulder, feeling him sway like the tide on his side. Both lads chuckled.

“I think we could pull that look off, don’t you?”

“Maybe you could.”

Both boys smiled at one another, it was a kind of secret smile shared between two friends. Though in Harry’s mind friend didn’t seem quite like the right word. He wished it were, things would be so much less complex if they were but ever since Harry had set eyes on Louis he knew it would be something more than that, he sent his chest a flutter.

“You don’t think they are going to separate us… do you?” Harry asked, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face, still not used to the length or shape of it. 

He watched a flicker of uncertainty flash behind Louis’ eyes before he found his composure and gave a little shrug of his shoulders before holding up a hand, indicating for Harry to wait. He took several steps back from the window and moved to find his trunk, sorting through it before humming once he found what he was looking for and moved back to his space beside Harry.

Louis fiddled with something in his hand before shifting the weight to Harry’s. It was cold and metallic, no more than half the size of Harry’s palm. He looked down at it and furrowed his brow, seeing that it was a kind of dog tag. 

“You realise I already have one of these,” His voice was fond opposed to ungrateful. He liked the look of the object in his hand, mostly because of who was giving it to him. 

“I know you do. So do I. My father- he gave me this one before he left- bastard figured I would follow suit once the time came. He said it was good luck, but you see I’m the luckiest son of a bitch this side of Europe and you stumbling over your own bloody feet thrice a day. So take it. Even has an inscription on the back.”

Louis turned the chain and dog tag over to reveal the engraved words Louis had stared at for what seemed like months on end before finally coming to the decision that this- the war, everything, was what he wanted to do.

‘A vaincre sans péril, on triomphe sans gloire’

‘To win without risk is a triumph without glory’

Harry ran his fingers over each of the letters as Louis had done many times before then there was hesitation before Harry gave in and slipped the necklace around his throat, letting the words rest on his chest. 

“It sounds a lot like your father- from what you’ve told me,” Harry whispered and Louis smirked.

“Yeah well, the right bastard might just help me out this one time by keeping you safe and I’ll forgive him-just a little,” Louis smirked and then let his eyes trail over to Harry.

“Have you told your family what you are doing?”

 Harry’s reply was a shake of his head.

 “They would try and stop me.”

“I tried to stop you.”

Silence.

Then both lads looked to one another, cracking small smiles and fighting back laughs. It was one of those backwards situations where if you didn’t laugh you would cry. They obviously chose the former.

“You’re such a bloody stubborn bastard.” Louis chuckled covering his face for a moment.

“You had to give a fake name and everything, what did you even go with?” Louis continued and Harry cracked a smile and hesitated.

“Tommy. Tommy Coax.”

Louis shot him once of his classic smile, the ones where his eyes would crinkle at both sides and his lip would shake slightly in pure amusement. He let out a gasped laugh.

“Where did you come up with that?”

Harry could feel his cheeks start to go red as he gazed down at his boots, scuffing them ever so slightly.

“Coax is my mother’s maiden name and Tommy… sounds like Tomlinson I guess. You were next to me, I was panicking to make up a name, it just kind of came to me.” 

Louis stopped laughing though the smile still stayed stuck to his lips, seemingly glued there. He opened his mouth, but was stopped by another laughing fit, his hand flying up to cover his mouth again. Harry didn’t think he had ever seen a grown man giggle before the sight of Louis Tomlinson and he was surprised to find he actually liked the concept.

“At least it wasn’t Tommy Tomlinson, then people would think we were brothers and that would be… slightly problematic.”

 

_Part 2_

_The Calm Before the Storm_

_Cet amour/_ _This love_

_Si violent/ So violent_

_Si fragile/ So fragile_

_Si tender/ So tender_

_Si désespéré / So desperate_

_Cet amour- Prévert, Jacques_

**May 25 th Wormhoudt France**

Louis Tomlinson sat outside of the military’s local lodging, a cigarette balanced between his thin fingertips. He was staring down at the dirt lodged under his nail beds, slowly inhaling fumes and the night air with his other comrades. Harry was still in line for his rations, and rarely ever smoked.

Beside Louis was a boy with honey coloured eyes. The eyes themselves held a stern kind of knowing, which Louis couldn’t put his finger one. He had grown close to this man, in particular, an Englishman of roughly Louis’ age. He said his name was Liam though he would hardly ever respond to the name in passing. On the other side of Louis was a boy with dirty blond locks and a loud mouth. Louis thinks he’s Irish. He acts Irish in all the stereotypical ways, and though Louis knows it’s conceded to generalise honestly the boy does embody the loudmouth, happy go lucky drunk stereotype to a tee.

“There are still some women left in town. I heard if we are lucky a few of them might come sing for us,” The Irishmen, Niall spoke as he practically inhaled his half rations of food.

They were all on half ration at this stage. There wasn’t enough food to last the troops, even with half the number of soldiers who first made up their comradely left. Louis had changed since he had left Paris. He had watched his friends die before his eyes almost every day. It could really change a person. All those left looked thin and worse for wear. Louis was just counting his blessings that everyone he really cared about was still with him. Harry was still with him. Louis couldn’t imagine going home without him. It wouldn’t be home without Harry.

Louis was shaken from his own mind when Harry plonked down across from him. Since they left Paris he had lost weight, making his tall body look slightly more lanky than usual, and his hair had started growing out again, curling at the ends. Louis leant over, brushing a stray curl from Harry’s face, watching for a fraction of a second as Harry leant into the touch before pulling away and starting to eat his food. He had been so much quieter as of late. Louis guessed he didn’t blame him. He had seen things. They all had. If Louis closed his eyes, he could see it all. Even with open eyes the nightmares lingered.

“Hello? Why is everyone else not more excited, this is the best news we’ve had for months,” Niall huffed finishing off his meal and moving on to his pint and cigarette.

“I’ve got someone waiting for me back home,” Liam spoke simply, turning his attention to Louis and Harry for a moment. He gave the two a knowing look before returning to stare off into space.

“What’s she like?” Niall asked, looking over and nudging Liam’s shoulder.

Liam’s slim frame turned to face Niall. He raised a thin and dark brow before shrugged his shoulder, flicking his cigarette to the ground and scrunching it under the sole of his shoe. 

“Kind… loyal… Brave,” He whispered the last part and Louis leant over to nudge his shoulder slightly.

“Sounds like a dog, not a partner.”

 “Fuck off.” 

Silence fell for a moment and Louis looked down at the food still left on his plate before leaning over and scraping it onto Harry’s. They were only getting half of- well next to nothing and Harry was looking sickly as it was. The night before Louis could hear him coughing in his coat and his heart had sunk to his boots and pounded for the rest of the night. Louis could go without a little extra that night if it were to help in any way. Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Louis shook his head.

“I’m full,” He assured while Niall lets out a grunt beside him. 

“Hey, I’m always willing to take it. Anyway, what about you Lou? Anyone in Paris worth giving a second glance… What about you kid?” 

For a fraction of a second Louis thought Niall was asking him if he fancied Harry, he was already turning red when he realised that wasn’t the case. Of course it wasn’t. He was asking Harry if he also had some kind of girlfriend. Louis felt the same feeling as before. His heart was in his boots and his stomach in his mouth.

“No. Paris is rather overrated, all the girls look the same,” Louis gave a broad answer. Harry, on the other hand, looked up to Louis for a fraction of a second.

“Thought you fancied the girl you always walk to the bakery with.”

Louis rolled his eyes. She fancied him. He didn’t fancy her. He would walk with her to the bakery until he was able to meet up there with Harry. That was all. He didn’t feel anything for her. Some days he wished he did. It would be easier if he did.

“What about that girl I saw you snogging in the hallway then? It was the week before Christmas break- don’t tell me you’ve forgotten. 

Harry let out a half-hearted laugh and rolled his eyes.

“Just a friend,” was his soft response. 

“And you snog all of your friends?” Louis’ voice held a teasing manner because he knew. He remembered that day and the events that followed.

Maybe Harry really did snog all his friends.

 _Harry was little more than friends with the girl he found his lips attached to. She had leant in first. He had just gone with it, as if willing himself to like what was going on. Still he kissed with his eyes open and his hands locked down at his side. What the bloody hell was he meant to do with his hands? Touch her? Where?_

_Hips. Lips. Thighs. Sides. He didn’t bloody well know so he kept them locked at his own sides._

_In that moment, he didn’t feel much like a ‘good’ kisser. He probably wasn’t, as he felt nothing. No spark, not even a flutter in his chest. She was a pretty girl with a kind face and a soft smile. If Harry had been the type to fall in love with a girl he would think she would have been a good choice but nevertheless, he felt nothing._

_The only thing that broke the two apart was the sound of a door swinging off its latch and a small figure clouding Harry’s view in his peripheral vision. He shot away from the woman as if her skin was an exposed electrical wire, recoiling away from the sensation of her kiss when he recognised the boy as Louis, with his wide blue eyes, cutting cold against his flesh like winter chill. Harry felt ashamed and he didn’t know why. He felt like he was cheating on a relationship that didn’t exist or ever would._

_“I- shit. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” The words fell from Louis’ lips holding a kind of anguished pain behind them. Harry took a step away from the girl and towards Louis before he could even recognise what his body was doing. He shook his own head at how ridiculous he was being. What the hell was he doing?_

_“Y- you weren’t interrupting, actually I wanted to talk to you. In our room, maybe? There is a problem I’m struggling with from biomed, can you help me with it?”_

_Louis looked at the girl for a moment then back to Harry a confused look crossing his face. He gave an awestruck nod and followed Harry down the corridor to their lounge room. Once they were both in the room, door shut and locked Louis found his tongue._

_“Biomed? I don’t do biomed… Nor do you.”_

_Harry gave the slightest shrug of his shoulders and a cheeky grin. He wasn’t sure where this newfound urge came from it was near primal. There was an inner animal scratching its way to the surface. He hadn’t gotten what he wanted or hoped for the girl he had kidded. It all felt wrong. He wanted to see what could feel right. He thought he knew._

_“No, but I did want to talk to you.”_

_He crossed the distance between them like the tide rushing into the shore, they connected with crashing speed like white water breaking against a rocky shore. Soon their lips crush, moulding together. Harry’s eyes fluttered shut to embrace the sensation. His whole body was trembling and Louis’ arm shot out to hold him, steady him. The kiss was even more than imagined. It was heaven and hell in a moment._  

If Harry shut his eyes, he could still picture it. His heart ached at the image. Ached from pain, knowing that he should never want to do it again but he did. Oh god, he did want to do it again. 

“I think I do have a weird habit of snogging all of my friends,” Harry spoke as he fell back to the present, feeling Niall’s hand clap between his shoulder blades. 

“Wow, never picked you as a player mate. You have to come with me tonight then. Might get lucky.” 

Harry shook his head, finishing off the last of Louis’ food, biting his lip. He felt bad, but Louis was stubborn as hell. He yawned and scrubbed his eyes.

“I was actually thinking of heading in soon. I heard over the wireless tomorrow was going to be a big day, apparently we’re really backed into a corner here. Tomorrow morning the captain is trying to get us to hold up the front so some teams can make it out Dunkirk before the end of the week.” 

For a moment, they all fell silent realising again the situation they were in. If they weren’t out by the end of the week, they would be dead. That was just the truth of the situation. No one was saying it aloud, but all of them knew it. Louis bit his lip and moved to shift over and sit beside Harry. 

“I’ll come with you in a moment. I just want to talk to the lads a bit longer. You think you can hold out until then?”

Harry yawned and chuckled uttering a, “Maybe.” 

Louis rolled his eyes and dipped his shoulder slightly before giving Harry’s arm a little tug, pulling the taller lad down onto him.

 “Fine, you can sleep on my shoulder until I’m done if you want.” Harry made a noise of protest before nuzzling slightly into Louis’ shoulder and the nape of his neck.

“You have bony arse shoulders.”

“It’s either that or the ground Harold- watch it,” Harry smiled softly at this and shut his eyes, soon his chest heaving up and down slowly and deeply with sleep. 

“Why do you call him Harold?” Niall whispered faintly and Louis’ head snapped up realised he had used Harry’s real name or an extension of it instead of the one he was using nowadays.

“Because that’s his real name right, Lou?” Liam asked faintly, his eyes travelling over to Louis who look surprised he had caught on already.

“How did you-” Louis had begun.

“Because maybe I’m not using my real name either.” Louis raised a brow while Niall looked slightly confused. 

“Am I the only one on our side not working under bloody covert standards?”

Louis was silent for a moment before uttering, “Well my name’s actually Louis, Harry gave a false name because he wasn’t old enough to enlist, but he wasn’t letting me go on my own, idiot.” 

Louis found his eyes looking out at the horizon. It felt like the calm before a storm. Silence had lain thick in the air and the tension felt utterly suffocating. Louis reminded himself to breathe, in and out. Soon his breaths fell in rhythm with Harry’s sleeping frame and again he was calm. The storm was still on the horizon, for now, they had a bitter kind of peace.

 The boy they all knew as Liam looked out at it also, something on the tip of his tongue. He looked as if he were seconds from debating whether or not to elaborate on his statement. In the moonlight, his olive skin glowed golden. 

“Liam’s my… _friend_ , my best mate. Ever since we were young we’ve been pretty much inseparable. His family took me in when I was very little. My father was some rich admiral in the first war, slept with someone who wasn’t his wife and I guess I was a bastard child. His family took me in at a young age. We because close… quickly, Liam and I. Come the war he had his name down on the enrolment and me? Well, I didn’t even have a bloody birth certificate. Before he was meant to leave, he grew ill.” 

He had paused and Louis met his eyes for the first time, seeing the way they travelled from Louis to Harry’s sleeping frame in a knowing manner. In that moment Louis’ mind couldn’t help but question if this boy and the real Liam were far more than friends, it was just something he couldn’t speak it aloud. Louis knew the sensation. 

The man broke his gaze, for a moment he stayed silent as if a thousand miles away. He rummaged around in his pockets, pulled out another cigarette and a lighter. The fire ignited several times in his hands before it stuck and embers floated from his cigarette.

 “I didn’t- I couldn’t let him go, knowing that he was likely to only last a few days. What type of person would I be if I let that happen? So I took his dog tag and left before he had the chance to catch me. Idiotic I know. But… he was my friend. I’d rather him be alive and hate me than be friends and dead.”

Again silence hung palpably through the air. To Louis’ surprise it Harry, who stirred slightly at Louis’ shoulder, eyes fluttering open ever so slightly, green and dewy with sleep.

“So what’s your real name?” His voice was slow and rough, an odd mix of gravel and silk, which Louis had come to admire- love even. Though Louis was never going to admit this aloud.

“Zayn,” He spoke with the ghost of a smile and Niall even join in with a warm smile and an extended hand. 

“Nice to meet you then Zayn, good to know the real name of the person saving my arse from being riddled with bullets. You too Harry.” Niall turned to shake Harry’s hand then stood. 

“Now if you all are far too tired for one last good night I’m going to have to leave you. I am itching for my last night of freedom.”

“Hey, don’t make us out to sound boring, maybe our idea of freedom is just a little different to yours,” Harry piped up, straighten up again, no longer needing Louis’ shoulder for support. Harry stood and yawned, scrubbing his eyes roughly.

“I’m going to hit the hay, you coming?” Harry questioned softly and Louis paused, looking to Zayn nodded.

“Yeah Harry, give me a moment. I will be right behind you.”

Louis watched Harry go for a moment before gathering his things and standing to follow.

“You love him, don’t you?” The words came tumbling from Zayn’s lips as soon as Harry was out of view. It shocked Louis to his very core. He paused with wide eyes and spun on his heels, almost totally floored, he had to think of a way to dig himself from the utter rut he found himself falling down.

“Love him? I mean- course I do. He’s my best mate.”

“But, that’s not how you love him… is it?”

Silence. Louis tried to speak. He couldn’t.

“I can see the way you look at him and the way he looks at you. Don’t worry, secret’s safe with me. Liam and I… we are- were, more friendly than friends as well.”

Louis’ eyes still swelled wide, but he didn’t speak, just held his tongue and tried to sort out his thoughts.

“I don’t think Harry and I could ever be considered any more than friends. I haven’t even told him about my feelings. Every time we do something, every time I feel close… it just slips away. I think he’s scared. I understand that, but in the same mouthful, we are dying, one day at a time I can tell. One of us- both of us might not make it home… heck, we might not make it past tomorrow.”

Zayn’s eyes met his, holding Louis’ gaze, for a long while it was silent, then when he spoke he did so in a hushed and knowing tone, one Louis couldn’t help but listen to.

“Then tell him. It’s better to tell him and see how it goes than for him to never know and you live your life in a state of ‘what if’. That’s no way to live or die.”

 Louis could do nothing but nod, standing and squaring his body. He grabbed his things sighing softly, gnawing on the inside of his lip until he could practically taste blood.

“I’ll see you at first dawn, yeah? Take care of yourself. You have a man to go home to and if he’s anything like me, he’s going to kick your arse for taking his place.” 

Zayn shot Louis a kind of coy smile and Louis just chuckled disappearing into the night air.

 

**May 26 th Wormhoudt France 1:00 a.m. **

Harry lunched to life as he heard the springs of his military crib rattle beneath him. His hands reached blindly in the dark for his gun, gritting his teeth together. He was about five seconds away from pulling the trigger when Louis’ slightly shrill voice filled his ears.

“Bloody hell Harry, put that thing down it’s me.” Harry did just that.

“What are you doing? Your bed is on the other side of the room. I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“I couldn’t sleep. Figured I would talk to you.” 

Harry fell silent in the darkness before scrubbing his eyes with the backs of his fists, feeling exhaustion rear its ugly head and creep into bed beside him. His lids and head hung heavy. He wanted to sleep, needed it. Though it was rare for him and Louis to talk and be close as they had back in Paris, so he wouldn’t push him away. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. 

“All right, but I’m lying down. I’m five seconds from passing out so you better keep the conversation riveting.” 

They were speaking French in hushed tones to one another. When they did this it made everything feel so much more secretive, as if they were having some kind of late night tryst. Maybe they were. 

Harry lay down again in his cot, slipping under the covers. He held his breath as he felt Louis slip in beside him. Harry’s cheeks instantly set ablaze and he thanked the darkness for hiding his shame. Louis was so close, his breath warm on the nape of his neck while Harry holds his. With Louis so close it was hard to breathe. This felt both new and familiar. He couldn’t help but ask,

“What are you doing?” 

Louis’ breath grew closer until his lips were pressing into Harry’s neck, soft and warm, though slightly cracked from the blistering winter.

“Nothing… sorry.” Louis didn’t pull back.

“Someone is going to see us and we are going to be bloody arrested.”

Harry wasn’t sure when but sometime between him starting to speak to Louis and him concluding to speak, Louis’ hand had found his waist and stayed there. 

“What are they going to arrest us for Harry? We’re just two friends talking to one another.”

“Talking to one another while bloody snuggling in bed Louis, you know what it will look like if we get caught. We look like-” Harry cut himself off, saying no more. 

“We look like a couple?” Louis finished it for him with the inclination of his brow.

“But we aren’t”

“But we could be.”

Again there was nothing but silence. This silence was killing Louis. He needed something, anything to go off because right now god only knew where they stood. It was clear Harry’s shocked silence wasn’t ending anytime soon, so Louis filled it the only way he could. 

“Say something,” He begged.

Louis could hear Harry sucking in a breath through his teeth, a nervous habit he had since he was young. Harry never told Louis this, but his mother had shared it with Louis once when she came down to see Harry in Paris for a weekend. Her name was Anne and she seemed to like Louis very much. She said she was glad to see Harry so happy in someone’s company. Even now Louis couldn’t help but wonder if she knew.

“No we can’t Louis- it’s wrong. Illegal for one, not to mention we could go to hell for it and it’s no use talking about it in a war. We could be dead tomorrow, what good would it do? It would just break my heart more if I lost you.”

It was Louis’ turn to be shocked into silence, he took his time to compose himself, slowly but surely mapping out the thoughts bounding about in his brain, trying to conceive the best way to place them. 

“Harry… Like you said we could die tomorrow and I don’t want to die without being with you, properly being with you for at least once in my existence. I want to be able to call you mine and you to call me yours. If I could do that then dying wouldn’t bother me in the slightest. Fuck the bloody law, we are out here, killing people for no goddamn reason. People, probably like you and I who are just following orders. We are murders and you are worried about us breaking the law? As far as hell goes, if my damnation was with you then it would still be heaven in my eyes.’

Harry stared at him with wide green eyes, for a moment Louis couldn’t help but liken them to the eyes of a child, scared. It was mirroring the look Harry gave him the first time they saw one of their friends get shot in front of them in the field. It killed him inside to think of it and to see it being mirrored felt like a dagger slowly digging into his chest. 

“I have something to say, but I’m not sure it would do me any good,” Harry whispered.

His own words echoed back through his past and presented itself again now. Louis didn’t know how to react, he just moved to sit up in bed before feeling a hand on his arm as if to almost silently say, ‘don’t’. So he didn’t. He lays back down beside Harry, eyes mindlessly searching over his. 

“Then say it,” Louis spoke out into the darkness. 

“I’m trying. It’s hard for me.”

Silence. Sheets ruffling. Other people around them were breathing. Harry exhaled.

“I love you: laws, wars and hell aside. Always have, and I think I always will.”

Louis could hear his own heart pounding in his ears, he couldn’t breathe or even move. He was so far gone. His eyes moved up to hold Harry’s gaze. He could feel Harry trembling beside him and held his own breath for a long while, then let out a short and sharp exhale.

“I love you too. Everything aside. I love you, that’s all I do.”

Harry screwed up his nose for a moment and held back a rough cackle not wishing to wake all the sleeping soldiers. 

“That was horribly cheesy.”

“I have my moments.” 

It was then Louis make the first move, his body slowly edging up until his face and Harry’s face was level. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, but in this moment it felt as if he were sealing some kind of silent deal between the two of them, some kind of quiet promise of forever or what small portion of forever they could have.

His lips moved slowly, feeling Harry’s breath brushing over his face. He then realised he too was shaking. The kiss started off as something soft and light, like the skimming of a feather over water before it grew rougher moving deeper as then crashed into one another. Louis lost track of where he started and Harry began as he slowly started to feel their exposed flesh melding together. Harry’s hands knew exactly what to do, snaking from his shoulders to the small of his back and resting a large hand there. They were moving together like the waves and whitewash. 

Things slowly grew rough, desperate. Harry’s legs were twining with his. He couldn’t pinpoint a place where they weren’t touching. Clothes were getting in the way at that moment. They were the small barriers separating their existence. Louis could hear Harry’s breath grow more laboured and for a moment had to think of where to put his hands. He opted for twisting them into his short curls, giving them the slightest tug hearing Harry let out a groan and both their eyes shoot open wide. 

They broke apart at that moment, knowing that they couldn’t afford to go any further with so many people around them in such a quiet room. Even if he had Harry, that didn’t mean he could do whatever he wanted with him, not yet anyway. 

“Guess we have something to look forward to when we get back home,” Louis spoke, even in the dark Harry could tell he was smiling. 

“Or,” Harry breathed out faintly, biting the inside of his lip finding some kind of bravery.

“We could always go check out the supply closet.” Louis’ eyes swelled and he shook his head.

“Harold you cheeky- you know what, let's do it.” He breathed out smiling faintly. 

Harry gave a jerky nod and climbed from the bed hearing the springs let out a small squeak. Louis was right behind him and Harry’s head was spinning, screaming. This is wrong. Shit this is wrong- shit. But he didn’t care. He was going to do this.

Both boys moved through the darkness, navigating through the bending and twisting maze of beds and sleeping men until finding the latch or the storage room door and slowly unhinging it.

The room was near pitch back and neither Louis nor Harry could find the nerve to switch on a light. So they kissed in the dark, found one another’s skin and flesh. Louis could feel gooseflesh erupt over Harry’s skin, feel his hands stand on end and had enough courage to whisper,

“It’s okay, we can stop whenever you want.” Harry shook his head as if to say, ‘don’t stop’ so Louis didn’t.

 Instead he started to get rid of their barriers, starting with Harry’s shirt, moving slowly and trying to remember in the dark where he placed it. Harry’s breath was suddenly heavy and Louis let his heart steady, slowing things down, he laid both hands palm down over Harry’s bare chest.

“Your heart is pounding,” He chuckled under his breath and glanced upwards at Harry.

“It’s not like I’ve never see you like this before. Harold, you’ve got a pretty horrible habit of walking about the place naked.”

It was Harry’s turn to laugh, “Yes but this is different,” and it was.

Louis looked down at his own smaller frame and slowly moved Harry’s hand to the hem of his shirt, helping him to slowly remove it, hearing it softly fall to the ground in the silence. 

“Tic for tack, yeah?” Louis breathed and stopped Harry from answering with a rough kiss, it was then he was blinded as the room flooded with light. 

Standing drunken in the doorway was the Irish lad, swaying slightly and looked at the two wide-eyed before bursting out laughing, Louis quick to hush him. 

“Fuckin’ called it. You bloody sly dogs. Just wanted to nick some bloody bread and here you are, bloody sly dogs,” Niall slurred and Louis glanced at Harry before scrambling to gather both their shirts.

“I think I should help Niall to bed,” Harry whispered with a deep blush and Louis gave a jerky nod.

“Okay, guess we will have to finish this on another date.”

“I guess we will.”

Louis moved back to his own bed as if it had never happened, but it had and it was amazing.

_Part 3_

_Death, Decay and the Never Ending Rain_

_Only the dead have seen the end of the war._

_-Plato_

 

**May 27 th A Field Outside Wormhoudt France **

Men lay dying in vast fields, on the outskirts of Wormhoudt. They had been taken by surprise mere hours after arriving at the fields. Harry and his comrades had set up post at the crack of dawn the previous day, told the opposition would not be there until at least noon. They came an hour later in a shower of bullet fire and shrapnel. The sun had turned the sky a bitter and fitting red and red it had stayed for the massacre.

In this moment, everything was both going too slow and too fast. The only protection given to the men on the ground was by that of the terrain. Harry was lying on his stomach, behind a slight incline of the ground. To one side of Harry was Louis, a large gun balanced on his small, sparrow-like shoulders, rising over the hill and shooting blindly. There were beads of sweat gathering on Louis’ brow despite the cold weather. On the other side, Zayn was doing the same. Niall was nowhere to be found. He had been conversing with one of the other British soldiers whom he had spent most of the previous nights within the town. It was hard to tell who was still alive and dead. Maybe Niall was dead. Harry didn’t have a chance to hurt or morn. It would all catch up to him someday that he was sure of and it would be a dark day when it finally did. 

For a moment there seemed to be a long silence, Harry’s ears were left ringing. Then everything happened all at once. 

A blond head poked up above the cover, large gun balanced in his arms, his left shoulder cocked back slightly as if preparing for the kickback. Louis hissed to both Zayn and Harry to cover Niall, as he was a sitting duck position in the middle of the battlefield with next to no cover. 

Gunfire fell like rain over the field. Niall was standing tall one moment, then the sound of metal bounding through skin trickled through the battleground. Niall faltered, crumbling to the ground in a heap, clutching his stomach to keep flesh and bone bound together. He was lying there dying. Even from as far away as they were Harry could see blood pooling, see Niall’s lips turning blue in the breeze, and see his fingers shaking. He felt his own heart cracking in two with one simple motion. Zayn made a move to stand, but Louis tugged him down roughly.

“You are just going to get yourself shot.” He hissed, eye narrowing. Louis has been ever the calculated warrior. Harry couldn’t be calculated in the face of death, he could just feel himself freeze and crumble.

The gunfire grew heavier and more frequent. More men were dropping to the ground. The field was filled with wildflowers and it that moment it seemed fitting. Red blood pooled on pale white petals. 

“We need to surrender,” Zayn whispered to the two of them, his eyes then moving back to scan over the bodies.

“At least then we might be able to say half our men- if not we are all going to lay here slaughtered by morning, we are out numbered and out gunned.” 

The truth was harsh. What would happen to them if they did surrender? Was it better to be a war criminal or dead? Would they even take them prisoners? He had overheard on the wireless the Germans pleading for them to surrender, that they would be treated as humanely as possible, though there was doubt gnawing at Harry’s mind. It felt like a bad idea in the making. But it wasn’t Harry, who surrendered, nor Zayn or Louis.

 It was the British soldier Niall had become close friends with over their short time in Wormhoudt. As far as Harry knew, his name was Olly. He stood with his hands raised above his head after placing his gun on the ground. He was older than both Harry and Louis by far, though was still fairly young, in retrospect they all seemed older now. One couldn’t see what they had seen and still be young. They were all old men in children’s bodies.

“Stop!” Olly yelled, accent thick, voice stern.

“We will surrender, just let us collect our dead and tend to our injured.”

Everyone seemed to freeze. They were yelling out in German. Harry could figure out enough to know they were being told to put down their weapons and come out of hiding. Harry’s eyes stayed locked on Niall’s contorted body praying for this to work out but he wasn’t foolish. He had a sick sensation in the pit of his stomach.

One of the men speaking moved closer to Niall, gun pointed. Harry was suddenly aware of the rise and fall of his own chest. He could hear himself sucking air through his teeth and feel Louis shift closer to him. If they didn’t have to show their hands he was almost certain Louis’ hand would have been searching for his. He could almost see his hand twitching in the air as if itching for Harry. He could really use a hand to hold in that moment. He swore his heart stopped beating as he watched the man press the barrel of his gun into Niall’s chest, upsetting already bleeding wounds. Zayn’s hand twitched for his gun, but it was too far away to grab it without being noticed and likely shot by the opposition onlookers.

 The scene played out in slow motion. Niall’s eyes moved up and locked with the other man, watching as the gun moved from his chest to pressing at his temple. The man yelled in English for Niall to look away. He didn’t. He couldn’t.

 “No,” He hissed through gritted teeth, flecks of blood and spit flying from his mouth.

 “If you are going to shoot me, you are going to have to look at me.”

 Niall’s hands had been balled into fists at his sides burrowed into the dirt and wildflowers were strewn across the area where he kneeled. He raised one hand, placing one of the wildflowers down the barrel of the gun, never taking his eyes off the man.

“Go on. You are never going to forget my face. You are going to remember me as the boy you murdered you filthy, worthless-”

And then there was the shot. Earthshattering. Loud. Heart-breaking. Niall’s body disappeared from view into the wildflowers and all hell broke loose. 

Just like that, the truce was over, but everyone had already lowered their guns. In the short time it took them to rearm themselves they were already getting riddled with bullets.

Harry felt Louis’ body slam into him, both of them crumbling down before he knew it they were both lying there on the ground with the corpses. Harry didn’t have time to speak. Louis was already reaching for his gun and covering both of them in the still drying blood of their comrades. Harry felt sick but he knew this was what you were meant to do. To his left, he could see Zayn doing the same thing.

 Harry felt cowardly, but there was nothing else to be done, they were outnumbered and dying. Soon everything was utterly still. Harry kept his eyes opened, but fixated on the same spot on the ground, watching as a siege of combat boots stomped past his face, every now and again he would receive a stern kick to the stomach, ribs or side. He would have to cringe through it without a sound or a stir. He wondered how many more men were still alive, still breathing and just faking death until they could find safety.

Harry wasn’t sure how long they lay there, minutes or hours could have fallen, but there was no way of knowing. He could see the shadows in the grass changing and knew the sun was moving, falling from the sky with the ending of the day. It just took one of the other soldiers to stand again after the passing of the German army to set off a chain reaction and more followed to stand. From the troop of roughly forty men who had been with them the previous day now only six were left standing, Louis, Harry and Zayn being a part of them. The others were Olly, Ed and a man Harry didn’t know the name of, though he looked mere moments away from death.

When Harry stood and looked at the scene of death and decay his stomach fell. He had just watched one of his best friends get shot before his eyes. Harry could still see the body, laying there, his face almost unrecognisable. It looked like a shattered vase someone had tried to glue back together all smeared and crooked, wrong. He wondered for a minute, what happened to the bullet, whether it was a clean, in and out or if it bounced about inside his skull like a footballer kicking at a goal post. He couldn’t look any longer, his vision grew cloudy and he swayed like the grass in the breeze. Louis was close to his side in an instant.

“Harry?” He spoke, sounding distant as if he were speaking from under water or from a distant wind tunnel.

Harry’s hand moved to his stomach for some odd reason then felt a sharp shooting of pain and everything that came next came in some kind of drug-like haze. 

He was lying on the ground, staring up at the sky, up at Louis. He was speaking, but the words weren’t reaching Harry. They would phase in and out. In a moment of clarity Harry’s eyes trailed down to the sharp, shooting pain in his stomach and realised that this was, in fact, his own blood. Once realising he had been shot it was as if someone had flipped a switch and his body had finally convinced him to feel pain. He was gasping; hand moving to the wound but Louis was already applying pressure. Zayn returned with one of their medic kits. None of the men were doctors or surgeons but in the war, they had all learned some way or another to do a slightly dodgy stitch up of a bullet wound, for when push came to shove. 

As Louis spoke Harry came to realise he was lapsing in and out of French and English in a panicked state, confusing Zayn to no end as he tried to aid Louis in patching Harry up. 

“Merde. Harry. Merde… Putain. Look at me.” Harry tried to do so, his eyes locking with Louis’ and seeing nothing but fear. Harry felt the need to shake this. Louis was always the calm, cool and collected one. Now he was breaking down before Harry’s eyes and he couldn’t help but think of what were to happen if something did go wrong. 

“Hey- I think I got shot.” He breathed shooting him a weak smile and felt his body convulse with pain as Zayn pouring alcohol on the wound.

“Je connais. I’m going to stitch you up, good as new yeah? Regarde moi. Ça va bien. D’accord?” Harry bit his lip and whispered back,

“D’accord.”

He watched the sky and tried to keep his mind there, not to Louis stitching his bullet wounds, Zayn applying pressure to his bleeding stomach or the other three men who were trying as best they could give their friends a proper send-off. There would be no time to bury a body let alone several dozens like they all felt should happen so instead they were laying them out, facing the sky, giving them the wildflowers even. 

Harry turned his head to watch Olly pull Niall’s hat down over his face to cover it’s mutilated state and placed a flower on his chest. It was in that moment Harry really thought about death. It wasn’t the first time, of course. These thoughts had come into his mind, but it was the first time they had with the actual possibility of dying staring him dead in the face. He gazed up at the sky again and in this odd, cathartic kind of way he realised, for the most part, he wasn’t scared of dying, his mind went to how his family would deal with it, how his mother, sister and father would deal with it and then his mind went to Louis. Louis definitely wasn’t ‘dealing’ with it and probably wasn’t going to change this outlook anytime soon.

“I’m done, Harry. We have a few painkillers. You should take them. We are going to need to be out of here soon before they come in or more troops file in. I hate to ask you to walk, but-”

 “But you have to. I get it. It’s going to save all of our arses if I make us stay I’m screwing us all over,” Harry interrupted Louis before he could finish.

It was then, Harry cringed and with the help of Louis’ arm, he hauled himself into a standing position. Louis’ arm, then snaked around his side without a word, keeping his weight on his smaller frame.

“I’m alright.” Harry huffed under his breath, but Louis shook his head sternly.

“You were shot Harold, hush.”

Olly was the first to take the lead, followed by Ed, by this time the third man had passed. Zayn took Harry’s other side, aiding him with walking. None of the men knew their exact location but they all seemed to know what direction to go, towards the beach, it was the only way to go. Everywhere behind them was now enemy territory and the five of them were of little use, with next to no bullets left in their guns, no food, almost no water. If they didn’t get anywhere soon they would all die, if not by the enemy then by exposure.

They trudged through the fields of tall and winding grass. It was the kind that would slice any exposed skin and leave spores on the underside of your trousers. They found a direction and stuck with it, heading to the north point of their compass. Harry tried his best to keep up but the rain made walking even more difficult, slipping down muddied trails and trying to avoid the road when possible. He could tell Louis was also getting tired and Zayn was growing pale and shivering in his oversized uniform.

It was then Ed looked to Olly and held up his hands, panting faintly. They had made up some ground, but they didn’t have as much distance as the five men would have liked.

“I’ve gotta stop, rest up for the night. I don’t know about you lads but I’m sleeping here.” Ed spoke, laying down his pack and laying out as a kind of bed, to keep most of his body from the rain-soaked ground. 

“What do you think Harry?” Louis whispered in his ear, he knew Harry was getting tired and Louis couldn’t blame him. He had been shot for Christ sakes. It could take a lot out of you. In the same mouthful, if they stopped, they had more of a chance of getting caught by the enemy.

 While Harry thought of how to answer his eyes trailed to Louis, watching as droplets of rain slowly plopped down from the brim of Louis’ helmet and slid down his cheeks like tears.

“I have to stop too,” Zayn breathed to the other side of Harry, surprising him slightly. He still supported Harry’s weight, but Zayn looked almost sickly, his olive skin turning to a shade of ashen alabaster.

“Yeah, stopping about now, would be nice,” Harry had to admit and Louis nodded helping Harry sit. The moment Harry touched the ground, the pain of the bullet wound came back to him. He tried to find a comfortable position all the while his body squelching in the mud.

The weather was horrid. The rain came in thick sheets as the late night air began to chill. The five men sat shivering in it, exhausted and dehydrate. Olly lay on his back in the mud with his mouth agape in an attempt to catch any water, which came his way. Harry lay utterly still, finding it was better when he didn’t move. He was glad to finally have some time left to lick his wounds, though he wasn’t sure how long this bliss would last.

Harry’s body shivered as he and Louis lay there in a ditch not far from the side of the road. By now both their bodies were covered in mud and the stench of decay had seeped into their skin. Harry felt both dead and alive that night. The cold tendrils of rain sliced through their clothes and soaked into their skin. Zayn was coughing weakly nearby and Louis’s brows drew together as he ushered Zayn closer. They three of them lay shivering side by side, soaking up any body heat they could. When the rain finally stopped they were still left soaking and freezing. Harry had never felt further from home.

“I can’t wait to get home. Somewhere dry and warm with my family, with supper on the table and music on the wireless, good books to read and nothing to worry about,” Harry rambled looking up at the stars appearing through the gaps in the clouds.

 “With warm clothes and art supplies too,” Zayn added quietly from the other side of Louis.

 “I didn’t know you were good at art,”

 “I wouldn’t say I was too good. I like it, though.”  

 “I suppose you’re friend Liam is a bit of a ‘ _muse_ ’ then,” Louis added with a dry chuckle and Zayn nudged his side,

 “Bloody well, shut up Tomlinson.”

For a moment, silence fell and again Harry felt hollow. He shyly pressed his face into the nape of Louis’ neck, feeling a warm kind of comfort spread through his limbs. 

“Well- I agree with you lads on most things. On shelter, comfort and family, but- as far as home, I can’t go home. My home is right beside me,” Louis spoke in a smooth tone that caused Harry to gaze upwards, his eyes locking on Louis’ face. Drops of rain had mingled with Louis’ eyelashes. He felt his lip shiver into a smile.

“You are so bloody cheesy.”

“Ah- now that is another thing I bloody miss… cheese.”

In that moment, both Zayn and Harry let out their own throaty laughter. Harry could have even sworn he heard Ed or Olly laugh as well, though he couldn’t be sure. 

“Thanks for not perpetuating the French stereotype Lou,” Harry giggled and Louis just played on the accent, making his own overly obnoxious and thick in retort, turning up his nose.

“Vin et fromage pour de repas?” In that moment, both Louis and Harry giggled while Zayn looked at the two of them in a totally oblivious manner.

“God I hate the French.” He chuckled in an offhanded manner causing Harry and Louis both to laugh harder.

“The French hate you too.”

 And with that, they lapsed into silence, still sore and shivering, bleeding and bruised but there was a kind of hope buried deep within their chests.

 “Harry,” Zayn spoke, his eyes still turned skywards.

“You like poetry don’t you?” Louis shot Harry a sideways glance because he knew very well he did. Harry gave a little nod.

“Can you tell me one?” Zayn asked then let his eyes flutter shut.

Harry sat there and thought in silence. He didn’t know many English poems and he wasn’t the best at translating French ones. He felt Louis nudge his shoulder then and Harry glanced over. 

“What about L’Adieu… Guillaume Apollinaire?” Harry smiled and nodded, watching as Louis to shut his eyes.

“I’ve gathered this sprig of heather. Autumn is dead, you will remember. On earth, we’ll see no more of each other. Fragrance of time sprig of heather. Remember I wait for you forever.”

There was light on the horizon. There were stars peeking between the clouds. Everything might not be all right now, but maybe one day it would be.

 

_Part 4_

_In an Aeroplane Over the Sea_

_And all that trembles in your eyes of my dreams_

_That a lonely man drinks_

_Under flames of gas red like a false dawn_

_O clothed your arm is lifted_

_See the speaker stick his tongue out at the listeners_

_A phantom has committed suicide_

_The apostle of the fig-tree hangs and slowly rots_

_Let us play this love out then to the end_

_Un soir- Guillaume Apollinaire_

**May 30 th Somewhere in France **

Three days, that was how long they walked along the same broken stretch of field. They hadn’t eaten in three days and the only real water they could gather came from the sky. Harry was almost sure is wounds were infected and Zayn was always shivering. His body was constantly in a kind of hypnogogic state when he could settle. Ed and Olly were constantly exhausted while Louis seemed to be acting as the backbone of the team, trying desperately to keep the five of them alive and moving. It has been a harder task than it first appeared.

 On the third day, they came across a truck carrying soldiers over to the beach at Dunkirk. The five men were quick to give their explanation for being so utterly run down and separated from their troop leader and troop. They were all that was left. When Louis had told the Englishmen that, he could see the small flare of hope behind their eyes extinguish. It was all but hopeless at that moment. Harry didn’t know what was happening with the war, but he knew this battle was far from over. The only way of winning was to escape with their lives and maybe hold out until peacetime.

The five men climbed into the back of the truck, sitting between some other injured men making their way to Dunkirk. Getting water was something all five of the boys took to the fullest advantage, gulping it down. It felt like a flood in the Sahara. They were promised food and fresh clothes when they would arrive at Dunkirk. That was honestly all the men could ask for at the moment. One of the medics in the truck was checking and bandaging Harry’s still healing wound. At that moment, Harry felt old again.

 He shyly moved to comfort, resting his head back, ever so slightly onto Louis’ shoulder as the truck swayed to motion. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. There was something so amazing in a simple touch. It was something he wasn’t sure anyone else could understand. It seemed like to everyone else touch was as simple as breathing, but to Louis and Harry, it was a kind of commodity that needed to be used sparingly. It was their little secret and every touch was one step away from getting caught. How amazing it was, to touch, to kiss, to be held. In this moment a small touch was the only way of saying ‘I love you’ they didn’t get to say it aloud much since its discovery, but that didn’t mean they didn’t show it in other ways.

Every touch was a small piece of an ‘I love you’.

Harry blushed leant slightly closer, an ‘I love you too’.

In the seat across from them, Zayn was speaking to one of the men from the other troops. Apparently there didn’t seem to be enough ships in the whole of bloody Europe to get all of the men out alive in due time. That was just a fact.

“I heard the Sargent talking over the wireless, they were getting any fishing boat in London and sending them out here, trying to cram fifty soldiers into the place and the ships are near sinking. They couldn’t even move, had to throw half the men back overboard before they could get back into open water. It’s a mess out there. Most are dying and rotting on the beach.”

In that moment, the five men who had seemed to spend days on end in hardship, when finally seeing a light at the end of the tunnel had just plunged into darkness again. Louis’ body leant over slightly and he whispered in Harry’s ear, 

“A vaincre sans péril, on triomphe sans gloire”

Harry’s hand moved to the dog tag Louis had given him, what seemed like a lifetime ago. Their little Parisian dorm room seemed aeons away, another time, and another place. He ran his fingers over the inscription and shot Louis a small smile.

“We have come so far, and we are so close to safe. We only have to hope for a little bit longer. London isn’t ideal, but I think for a short time at least, you and I could make it home.”

At the mention of London Zayn’s head tilted upwards, smiling at the two men.

“Well if you guys are going to be in London, you have a fairly local lad right here to show you the lay of the land. There is always a spare room in the Payne household.” Louis tried to fight back a smart comment but let it slip anyway. 

“I don’t know if we are going to want the extra rooms, how thin are the walls?”

Zayn turned a bright scarlet. This somehow led to the rest of the men reminiscing about the woman waiting for them at home, figuring that Louis had meant a Mrs Payne. Correcting anyone otherwise would just be dangerous. It was just the time they lived in. Harry hoped for a day that he could do something as simple as going to the films while hand in hand with Louis. If he could get that in his lifetime, he would be happy. Though at this moment in time he would be happy if his lifetime would outlast the ending of the month or even the ending of the day.

With all the men laughing and speaking of the woman waiting for them back home it wasn’t long before Harry and Louis were asked about the issue.

“What about the French woman, what are they like?” Harry was surprised when Louis felt free to speak on the issue, though Harry could feel him stiffen beside him.

“Well… They have the habit of bathing with the door wide open while reading pretentious poetry aloud or practising their English, for all the eligible Englishmen, they hope to meet and seduce.” Harry knew in that moment exactly who he was talking about and it wasn’t a French woman.

“Well, French women also have the awful habit of seeing a film five times at the cinemas and quoting it word for word each time they take you, not to mention going on and on about every player in every football club this side of Europe.” Harry wiggled his brows slightly in Louis’ direction and watched the boy chuckle and squirm.

“Oh, did I mention they also dance about with two left feet when they think no one is watching?” 

“Oh yes, and did I mention that they sing very loudly and very out of tune to all of the songs from the theatre shows?” Harry shot with a wide grin in Louis’ direction while he could hear him verbally scoff.

“It was not out of key.” 

“It was pitchy in parts.”

It was then that they became aware of all the others in the truck and burst into a fit of laughter at their own, slightly less than subtle inside joke before they both grew silent once more, cheeks tinted a brilliant shade of scarlet.

It was in that moment that Zayn broke the silence, a lopsided smile snaking over his lips. 

“French woman and fucking mental.” 

At this, both Louis and Harry blushed and nodded.

“Totally mental,” Harry assured.

 

**May 31 st Dunkirk **

It was a cold and crisp night on the beach off the coast of Dunkirk. Harry lay in the sand in a pair of new clothes that didn’t sit quite right on his body. It was better than his waterlogged clothes from the day prior and so he wasn’t one to complain. He could hear the sounds of men, groaning in pain or screaming in agony, fighting for space in whatever boat was available, when one would come. Everyone was dying around them. Harry tried to go somewhere else in his mind.

He pictured Louis, standing in the entrance to their home in Paris. He could practically picture him in his favourite white dress shirt and faded, brown braces. It had been so long since Harry had seen him in his civilian clothes that he had almost entirely forgotten what Louis looked like in them. He imagined Paris in the summer, pictured their bedroom windows open and the sounds of the busy streets before the war. He imagined people dancing, imagined Louis and himself dancing. Louis had caught him swaying a handful of times to the music on the wireless and one time he had even asked Harry to teach him how to waltz. He thought of that time now, how they would keep standing on one another’s feet. How Louis’ blue eyes caught his green. Harry was sure that ever since that day it was all he ever wanted to see again. If he were ever to go blind, he wished for his eyes to be the last thing he saw.

His eyes now trailed to hold Louis’ for a second. He was bent over Zayn’s body. That day his fever had taken him to new extremities. With the bitter cold night, all Zayn could do was lay there and shiver in the sand, inhaling the salt water. He watched his body start trembling so violently it appeared as if he were near enough to convulsing. Harry just needed to know how they could fix this. He just needed to last until morning. Come morning they could hop on the next boat to London. Zayn would be home. He just needed to hold out a little longer.

Harry moved closer, removing his coat and laid it over Zayn. The older boy wouldn’t have it. He simply batted it away, looking Harry straight in the eyes. He seemed to have a moment of clarity. 

“I’m dying Harry, you keep it,” He spoke the words no one wanted to admit.

There was a beat of silence.

“No, you’re not. You just need to hold on until morning,” Harry pushed. 

He watched as Zayn burst into a fit of coughs, he felt his whole body go ridged and tears fill his eyes. He couldn’t start crying now. If he did then he would never stop. He wouldn’t just be crying for Zayn, but for Niall, for all his other friends for his country, for himself. If Harry started crying now he would never be able to stop. 

“I won’t make it until morning, Harry and we all know it.”

Next Louis spoke up.

“Is there anything we can do? Anything that might-”

Louis was always the type to act strong. He had placed the position of being the rock of the group on himself, but in that moment Harry could hear is voice break and his breath become shaky. Harry didn’t know what else to do so he moved close, placing his hand over Louis’. It was another silent ‘I love you’.

“Anything that might make you more comfortable.” Zayn shook his head.

“No. But I do need you to do something for me. You have to find Liam. I have so bloody much to tell him. I’ve got some letter in my pack if you can take them to him. The address is on the back.” It was then Zayn started to cough again.

Harry felt his own lip tremble as he placed his free hand over Zayn’s. His eyes stung with salty tears, but he wasn’t going to cry. He couldn’t give in.

“You two have to get to back to London for me yeah? You guys have to bloody well take care of one another now. You don’t have me to sort you two out so I know it’s going to be hard and I know I won’t be able to show you around like I promised and I’m sorry for that, but you two are going to have to hold onto one another now, yeah?”

Harry looked to Louis for a moment and caught Louis staring right back at him. They both gave a curt nod and Harry felt Louis’ thumb tracing over the inside of his palm. A silent, ‘I love you too’. 

“Can you tell me another one of your poems?” Zayn asked, his hands balling into fists in the sand, feeling like ice under Harry’s own skin.

He had to think of just the right poem. He sucked air through his teeth and tried to keep himself composed, but with every word he spoke and every breath he took he could feel it becoming more and more shaky. 

“Death, be not proud, though some have called thee

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;

For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow

Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,

Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,

And soonest our best men with thee do go,

Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,

And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well

And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?

One short sleep past, we wake eternally

And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.”

By the time Harry finished speaking he noticed Zayn had gone still. He caught Louis’ eye, for a long while, neither boy spoke nor moved. Time seemed to slow, even stop for a short while. It was then Harry started shaking, his whole body trembling almost violently as the shock settled in and tears came viciously flooding from his eyes. He wasn’t sure when Louis had started holding him, but he didn’t wish for him to stop. He could hardly feel the man’s arms around him. Everything felt so utterly wrong. No one so young was meant to see so much death.

The world came tumbling down around them. It was as if someone had finally shattered the sheltered, snow globe like reality he lived in and now they were lying there in the shattered glass.

Zayn’s body lay there cold and motionless, his eyes still open and fixated on the slowly lightening sky. He watched the sun rise with his glassy eyes mere moments later. Harry’s heart was bending and Louis’ breaking at the sight. All he could do was clutch Harry closer and keep the both of them together. It was like cellar taping a bullet hole. It kept things together, but it didn’t stop the pain or the bleeding. It was then he saw boats on the horizon, over the crest of the early morning waves. Louis moved to shove Zayn’s things into his pack and shut his eyes for a moment in silent prayer.

“Harry we have to go now,” He spoke evenly, but Harry was still in hysterics. 

“We can’t leave him,” Louis’ heart was shattering. 

“We have to. He would want us to” 

Harry felt himself grow pale as he shakily moved to his feet. He couldn’t look at Zayn anymore. He couldn’t cry anymore. He needed to pick himself up and collect what dignity he had left. He looked to Louis and nodded. With that, both boys started running, kicking sand up with their boots, sending it flying skyward like sparks from a fire. They were halfway down the beach when the fighter planes began to bombard the beach, bombs beginning to fall down upon the already fallen troops.

Louis and Harry were so close, yet so far. They didn’t stop running; only moved faster, more strategically as the world fell from under them. They didn’t have time to speak, but they both knew the plan. Make it to the boats, get to London and figure out their lives from there. Once they reached the water it became more difficult, men were clawing and clambering from every direction to try and secure their place on the ship.

Louis helped to haul Harry into the boat, insisting he go first. Louis’ eyes were facing skywards while Harry’s were still locked on the sea. Louis saw the sky, he must have known it was coming. His eyes locked with Harry’s and without explanation he said the words aloud,

“I love you.” 

Harry didn’t even have enough time to reply before the bomb struck and chaos cracked the sky in two. 

Smoke clouded Harry’s vision, though he quickly realised he was back in the water. Men pushed and shoved his body while he gasped for air and struggled to push himself into a standing position. Before he was even upright, he was screaming Louis’ name. He couldn’t hear himself over the shrill ringing in his ears, so he screamed louder. He screamed until his throat hurt until it felt like it was near enough to bleeding.

The other bodies were pushing Harry, hauling him back into the boat, cramming him in with the other hundred odd men trying desperately to confine themselves to the space. He couldn’t push nor shove. He had no choice but to stay still as the boat slowly set out to sea, his eyes still fixed on the beach. He was screaming until he could no longer speak until his body finally gave out and he collapsed on the deck of the small fishing boat.

He was safe. He was alone.

 

_Part 5_

_Hospice_

Here I love you.

Here I love you and the horizon hides you in vain.

I love you still among these cold things.

Sometimes my kisses go on those heavy vessels

that cross the sea towards no arrival.

I see myself forgotten like those old anchors.

Here I love you-Pablo Neruda

 

**August 24 th London 1940  **

Harry Styles was running low on hope and luck. He had been in London for a little over two months and in that time, he had spent almost all of it looking for Louis. He had given himself a few days to heal at an army hospice in the city before setting out to do what he had to. His first plan was to find Liam. That was also where he encountered his first hurdle.

Louis had taken Zayn’s letters and the address of the real Liam Payne’s home and so all Harry could gather was from word of mouth. He had hoped that somehow, maybe he could find the address and maybe even find Louis looking for the same thing. Harry never let his mind dwell on issues such as Louis not making it to London. Louis had made it to London. He had to. Harry couldn’t bring himself to believe anything else.

It had been the middle of June when Harry finally seemed to be asking the right people the right questions. He had told one of the British men he met at the hospice about a young man by the name of Liam Payne. He said he had never heard of Liam, but he did know his mother. He pointed Harry in the direction of the shop where she worked and from there another employing pointed Harry in the direction of the Payne residence.

That was how he had stumbled upon the house of a Liam Payne. It was a quaint house on the outskirts of London and at the door stood a broad man, with a muscled body, pale skin and crew cut hair. He was almost the opposite of Zayn but as he saw Harry, a soldier at his door it was like he knew. He had shattered before Harry’s eyes and Harry could do nothing but stand there and comfort a stranger, all the while thinking of Louis. What if Louis were dead? Would this be how he would react? Would his body shake with sobs or just be stunned into silence? He couldn’t let himself think that way. He wasn’t dead. He was somewhere in this city and Harry needed to find him. 

Harry stayed in the Payne household for the following days. Liam was a good man, he had offered Harry shelter when he heard the tale he had to tell and insisted he help Harry in finding Louis. He, of course, would have his own intentions and motivations, more than likely thinking of the letters, Zayn’s last words to him. He needed something of the man to hang on to or at least that is what Harry assumed. That would be how Harry would feel if he were in that situation. He wore the dog tag Louis had given him everywhere, just to have him even when he slept, when he showered, when he was lonely and when he needed someone. He traced the words inscribed so often he was sure that was why the silver still looked polished. That was his last bit of Louis to hold on to, his last trace of home.

One night Harry had caught himself staring out the window into a foreign land, his bare feet pressed against the hardwood floor of the spare room in the Payne household. He had Louis’ dog tag pressed against his lips, the name ‘Tomlinson’ inscribed on the back. His eyes trailed to a small sheet of paper left on the dusty desktop and turned on the gas lights to see a sketch of Liam, signed off with Zayn’s scribbled signature. He had given it to Liam the next day and listened to him cry for the rest of the day. 

With Liam’s help, the following day Harry mapped out all the placed which the ships from Dunkirk took port and where all the men went, every hospital, hospice and halfway house. It was August 24th when Harry stumbled upon the name Louis Tomlinson, admitted to another makeshift hospice on the outskirts of London, shaped out of the corpse of a once used boarding school. He had been there since the 2nd of June. Why had he stayed so long? 

Upon entering the place he saw beds lined up one by one almost by the hundreds, some separated by a makeshift curtain divider. He wasn’t given a specific bed number. In the middle of a war, it was hard to keep track of everyone’s comings and goings and so he found himself having to search each of the beds.

He passed face after face, some near death others very much alive. None of them were Louis. He felt his feet moving on their own, running through rows and rows of beds as his head swivelled right and left trying desperately with no avail to spot him and so he tried screaming again. He screamed Louis’ name as he passed one bed, two beds, three, four… ten.

God, it was hopeless. He was lost in the collective whole, one drop of water in the ocean. Everyone was looking at Harry and still, he couldn’t find Louis. Why the bloody hell didn’t he answer?

“Louis!” He screamed once more, then while running he felt a hand clutch his own and his eyes swell.

Harry took this moment in slowly. His eyes glanced down at his arm, seeing the pale hand attached just above his wrist. He knew the small hands, knew the broken knuckles and the slightly rough touch. A hospital bracelet hung loosely around his wrists. It was then his eyes moved to Louis’ face.

He was slightly slimmer than usual and it seemed as if he were harbouring more wounds than when they had been separated. He had a large gauze bandage wrapped around his shoulder and stomach. Harry felt his heart sink.

“Hazza?” Louis asked, his eyes searching Harry’s face, eyes flooding with tears.

For them, the war was over. Now was the time to start crying because now, they were finally home.

“Who else would it be?” Harry teased quietly in French, but Louis’ brows instantly drew into a furrow. 

Harry watched as tears sprung to his eyes, he wasn’t sure if he had said something wrong or if it was what he said at all. Louis’ hands moved without the lad giving any indication as to why. His rough hands traced Harry’s slightly chapped lips and met his eyes for a long while. In that moment, Harry was yet again aware of where they were and had to look around to make sure they weren’t going to get caught in this kind of intimate embrace.

“I can’t-” And at the moment Louis’ voice cracked and Harry became almost hyper aware. 

Louis had that look on his face. It was the same one he would get every so often in the moments before he was going to tell Harry something he knew he wouldn’t like to hear. 

“You can’t?” Harry questioned and just felt Louis’ fingers trace over his lips and shake his head in frustration.

“I can’t hear you Hazza.”

Harry felt as though someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over his head, he didn’t know what he could say or do. He just felt tears well in his eyes and watched them also well in Louis’.

“What do you mean you can’t?” He then realised his words were useless.

He took a sharp intake of breath, then shook his head. He looked around once more before climbing into the hospital bed beside Louis, placing his arms around the smaller man’s body, knowing full well that at any moment they could be done for if anyone were to catch them.

He was mindful of Louis’s injured shoulder before he lay his head down on the older man’s chest and felt sobs wrack his body. Louis must have felt his body shaking because soon his fingers were twining through his hair. It was growing out, though it still wasn’t as long as it had been before Louis cut it. He missed his hair. He missed his home. He missed before.

“After the bombs came over… My ears were ringing and then I passed out and when I woke up… nothing. Some shrapnel from the boat hit my shoulder. When I woke up some of the medics had gotten me into a boat, but I couldn’t find you and they wouldn’t let me bloody get out of here and I can’t- I can’t fucking understand anything anyone is saying. I can’t even lip read French let alone bloody English I can’t-”

Louis’ blue eyes fluttered shut as if to hide the fact that he had started to cry. Harry could still see it, see the trail of tears slowly dripping down his jaw and fall against his own skin. Harry’s eyes fixated on his eyes, watched silently for a moment before his hand moved to Louis’ cheek, shaking him slightly so he would open them.

Harry pointed to his own chest. Tapping it once, then placing his whole palm over his heart and then moved to indicate to Louis. He watched a smile snake over Louis’ face and he gave a little nod.

“I love you too,” He spoke aloud, causing Harry to smile brightly.

It was then Harry held up a hand and moved to find a pen and paper he sat down and scrolled out in his slightly cursive writing,

 _We will work this out. Okay? We can learn how to sign. I can tell you what people say. I found Liam. I’m staying with him for now. We can give him Zayn’s letter and find our own home, a one just like Paris, only bigger. They have bakeries here and almost as many begets. The cheese isn’t horrible. It’s not Paris, but it could be home._  

Louis’s eyes slowly traced over the writing and a smile twisting over his lips. He looked to Harry, then to the slither of the city of London, he could see from out his window. 

“Okay. But Hazza, you don’t get it. You are home. If you are here with me, I’m home. I don’t need to make this city a home because my home is lying right here with me.

 _Home. Okay, yeah._  

“Yeah.” Blue eyes met green. 

“We are home.”

 

_Epilogue_

_Cet amour si vrai/_ _This love so true_

 _Cet amour si beau/_ _This love so beautiful_

_Si heureux/So happy_

_Si joyeux/ So joyous_

_Cet amour- Prévert, Jacques_

**March 15 th London 1946**

Harry Styles sat outside the tub, holding up a small child as her locks of blonde curls sway with the ebb and flow of the small waves, she made with her constant splashing. He was too busy quietly humming along to the music on the wireless radio, placed close to the tub to hear Louis come in. He was dressed in a pale white, dress shirt and a new pair of vibrate red braces. He held the hand of a small boy, who walked with the slightest of a limp. He had been affected by the wartime, but now in the time of peace found shelter in the foster home Harry and Louis now ran in London, their home of six years. It was peacetime at last. The war had left its scars, but even those could be ignored on the good days.

Louis placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder, and Harry cast his eyes upwards to Louis, smiling widely in his direction. Louis had gotten far better at lip reading and now hardly ever needed to rely only on signing, he could understand both English and French if he focused enough.

“Hey you. Did you sleep well?” Louis questioned as the small boy ran up to hug Harry tightly from behind, causing him to burst into a fit of laughter.

“Hey, little man.” He cooed, pecking the boy’s cheek before turning his attention back to the girl in the tub.

“I didn’t sleep too badly. I didn’t have any nightmares last night, but the twins woke me up at the crack of dawn.” He shrugged his shoulders as if to say, ‘what are you going to do’? 

Louis nodded and bent down, laying a soft kiss on Harry’s lips, brushing back the curls from his eyes. They might not ever be allowed to legally be a couple, nor call these kids their children under the law but it didn’t matter. Harry woke up with Louis and Louis woke up with Harry. They all called Harry dad and Louis papa. It didn’t matter about papers or laws. They were a family and they were home. 

“Ah, the thrills of parenthood, just as scary as any war zone I’ve ever been in.”

Harry looked back at Louis and smiled, the curls in his hair had gotten so long they almost tucked under his armpits and that was the way Harry liked it. He still had nightmares about the war, as did Louis but in time they had both learned how to deal with their own inner demons and fight off one another’s. It wasn’t perfect, and maybe it never would be but it was the closest they would ever be able to get.

Louis left the small boy, Tommy, with Harry and moved to the end of the tub where the three-year-old with blonde curls and a wide smile could see him. He signed a good morning to her and she giggled and signed one back, she, like Louis, was almost completely deaf. Louis was helping her through it. They would be okay. She would be okay. She was amazingly bright for her age.

“Dad,” Tommy spoke tugging on the hem of Harry’s loose fitting satin shirt. Harry looked over to the small boy and hummed quietly as if to say, ‘yes’.

“Can you and papa show us the funny dance again?” Harry chuckled softly, lifting the small girl, Rosa from the tub and helping her into her clothes.

“I don’t know. Papa, what do you say?” He questions and as Louis watched his lips he nodded 

“Alright, if you insist.” He chuckled, making his way to the lounge room with Louis at his side, Tommy and Rosa on their heels and the two youngest- the twins, already in their playpen in the lounge.

Harry could still hear the soft tunes of the radio drifting through the house and he shyly held his hand out for Louis. They both moved close to one another while Rosa giggled, spinning about the room with her hands extended skywards and Tommy sat down on the sofa to watch with wide eyes. He tapped one foot and sang slightly out of key as he pretended to know the words.

“You know I can’t hear a thing and you have two left feet so I’m assuming we are very offbeat,” Louis whispered against Harry’s skin, causing Harry to smile as the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end.

“It doesn’t matter really if we’re off the beat. I’m having fun, aren’t you?” He pulled back slightly so Louis could watch his lips. 

“I’m having so much fun.” Louis breathed, and then chuckled, looking down at their feet before back up to Harry, eyes locking. Sky met land. 

“Still home?” Louis asked under with breath and all Harry could do was smile,

“Still home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for sticking with it until the end, all kudos and comments are loved and appreciated.


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